Allegedly, St Mungos isn't what it used to be (Could be just a rumor, though.)
It was early. James Potter did not know where he was, or what day it was, but he did know it was around 10am and very clean, judging by the blinding light only mornings can generate and the distinctive smell of bleach. It definitely wasn't a brothel and thank Merlin for that.
Knowing you didn't do anything too stupid last night was always a good way to start a morning in his opinion. He tried to sit up but a very sharp pain tore through his left shoulder, catching him off guard and making him groan out loud. Alarmed by the ache, he laid down, trying to remember what happened yesterday. He remembered nothing, but that wasn't too unusual. Normally, he would wake up somewhere dark and secluded, where all the bad kids would go to hang out. He looked around himself, only to find the world a blurry mix of white and pastel. He could be in his mother's living room, which was a scary thought, because last he remembered he was in the woods chugging beer. Something was off here.
His glasses were nowhere to be found and his contacts must've fallen out. At least he wasn't sleeping on a dirty, sticky, stained couch somewhere in SoHo – no, here, the pillows were as soft as a feather and the duvet felt lovely against his skin. That was relieving, of course, but the nagging feeling that something was wrong, different, slowly chewed at him. He tried sitting up again and this time he called out: "Hello?"
His voice was hoarse, surprisingly so and the ache in his shoulder seemed to only expand further along his chest as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. He half expected Phee to throw a pillow at him and tell him to 'wake the fuck up, you're not sodding Aurora from that ridiculous fairy tale' (but he knew she knew exactly which fairy tale, because she made him watch it one time – the real one, the proper one, she said. He decided to ignore that she knew all the lyrics to every song). He half expected her to bring him a steaming cup of Hektor Hexer's Hangover Solution and find his glasses in that gigantic bag of hers, but then he remembered that Phee was gone and he might never see her again.
Truth be told, the thought made his heart ache; he had grown - dare he say it? - attached to her. They've made things exclusive and spent the majority of the year together – writing back and forth, meeting mostly on weekends, because Phee was at Durmstrang and James at Hogwarts. Sometimes, when the distance became too much, they'd skip classes and meet somewhere in the middle, like Germany or France (which was ridiculous, now that he thought about it). James almost got expelled because of it, but it was worth it and that scared him more than any spider or tampon ever could. He realised he'd go anywhere if it meant being there with her. Then summer came along and Phee was here the entire time. There was even talk that she'd move here permanently. Everything was great, they were both on cloud nine, but then Phee's family had to move to bloody Russia and she said she didn't want to string him along anymore.
Yeah, right. If distance didn't bother her when she was in Norway (or something), then it wouldn't bother her in Russia.
His best guess was that he was currently at a hospital for alcohol poisoning.
"Ah!" a squeaky male voice said. "Mr. Potter! I see you've woken up,"
The biting remark died in his throat when somebody flung himself at him.
"James!" she cried, and all he saw was red. "I was so worried you wouldn't wake up,"
Lily sounded tearful and James was worried now, not only for himself but for everyone else.
"Lil, Lil, what is it? Is everyone okay? What happened? What happened?" he kept asking frantically, but Lily only sobbed into his shoulder harder (he really didn't have the heart to tell her that particular shoulder felt like it was being ripped off his body at the moment). He wrapped his good arm around her and rubbed circles into her back. "Just tell me what it is, Lil, please,"
"Oh, Jamie," she whispered and drew back. "Y-you don't remember anything?"
"Remember what, Lily? What is it?"
He was quite sure she was looking at him, brown eyes wide with worry; it was the same expression his mother gave him. It made his skin crawl; it made him feel that he was a stupid incompetent little boy.
"Where is everyone else?" he asked, changing the subject. What happened? Did World War III take place? Did he get shot and get short-term amnesia, induced by trauma, which is why he doesn't remember the battle but feels the aftermath of the heroic act he no doubt performed? (Phee always used to tell him he played too many video games.) And why, in the name of Merlin, was Lily crying?
"They're all outside, waiting to be let in. They're making us go in one by one," she told him. He briefly wondered who 'they' were, but her tone changed considerably when she said, her voice cracking, "Oh James, you can't imagine, we were so scared, so scared for you . . ."
She hugged him again, drawing him as close as possible and he felt safe and happy hugging her, forgetting the feeling that something was wrong momentarily. Lily had always been his favorite relative of all of them combined; when mum brought her home from the hospital, he was three years old and horribly excited to have someone to be mischievous with, because Al cried and was no fun and maybe the new baby would be nicer.
(He didn't quite know that later he'd be sitting in a plastic chair, pig tails in his hair and mum's red lipstick smeared on his face, but it didn't bother him half as much as he said it did – Lily's smile made it worth it).
"Lil," he mumbled into her hair. "Stop crying, will you? Just stop crying, alright? For me," he hopefully added at the end, and she sniffed once, twice and then looked at him.
"You don't see me at all, do you?" she asked, hint of amusement in her voice. Lily always teased him about how he was all Weasley and no Potter, except his hair and eyesight. James stuck his tongue out at her and tickled her, always, which made her kick and scream until she thoroughly apologized.
"No, I really don't," he admitted and smiled a little at her. Lily jumped off his bed and started rummaging around in her bag (he presumed, by the sounds) and then she triumphantly said: "Aha!"
The next thing he knew, the world was in HD. "Thanks," he grinned at Lily, whose bloodshot eyes were smiling sadly at him, wistfully almost, like he was something lost long ago. He ignored her look and wrote it off as useless worry. It made him not feel real, not like himself, in a way, because he wasn't lost at all; he was here, wasn't he? He was breathing and fine, he just slept on his shoulder wrong, that's all. What was everyone fussing about?
"The bag's for you," Lily says, pointing to the corner of the room where a sports bag was, wiping her nose on her sleeve, "Mum got it. All your stuff's in there."
James nods and thanks her again, smiling weakly.
Someone clears their throat awkwardly.
"Mr. Potter," the man called and this time, when James looked at him, he saw that he was a middle aged, plump, bald Healer, clutching a clipboard, a badge proclaiming 'Hr. Harvey Caroban, First Floor, Creature Induced Injuries, Werewolf Specialist' resting proudly on the right breast pocket of his lime green robes. He was bemused for a second; then his blood ran cold in his veins, eyes widening and it made sense all of a sudden - this couldn't ... but he ... did it mean ... was he—he surely wasn't, he was James Potter, for Merlin's sake ... this couldn't happen to him. No, this was all a dream ... Freddy will be jumping on his bed right now to wake him up ... he surely must be dreaming ...
But Hr. Caroban remained quite still in his place, looking real and solid, and not at all dream-like, even after James pinched himself. His expression was solemn and remorseful; a shadow of fear on his face. James looks at Lily anxiously, heart thumping in his chest, but she is looking at her lap.
"Mr. Potter," he said again, slower, probably attempting to sound soothing; he achieved the exact opposite, as he was confirming James' worst fears, pure dread clawing at his lungs like raging cats. The realization felt like a bucket of ice cold water, slowly running down his body. He looked around himself, taking in his surroundings. The sterile white walls seemed to be laughing at him, the sunlight wasn't as blinding anymore and his entire world felt like it was crashing down around him. A werewolf. James buried his head in his hands and took multiple deep breaths, the bandages straining against his chest.
"Mr. Potter," Caroban repeated, as if talking to a small child.
James lifted his head slowly and simply blinked at him, suddenly feeling irritated. "Bloody hell – what is it?"
"Mr. Potter, I'm going to ask you to remain still, please, for both of our sakes."
I swear to God, if he says my surname one more time I'll tear his head off, fuckin' tosser.
Much to his surprise, though, Caroban waved his wand and conjured handcuffs, which locked one of James' wrists to the side of the bed. He looked at the man, whose plump palm was shaking slightly; he promptly lowered his wand when Lily snapped, "What's he going to do to you, huh?"
The Healer looked slightly taken aback now at her outburst, gaping at her but Lily continued. "Well? What's he going to do? Bloody bite you?"
"Why, Ms. Potter!" Caroban gasped and a hand flew to his heart, "I'm only taking precautionary measures! I'd never imply – I'd never – I can assure you –"
"Save it," Lily snapped again, venom dripping off her tongue. "He's my brother. I know him, this is completely unnecessary—"
Caroban took a few steps back and rummaged around in his robes for an old fashioned quill.
"Very well, very well ..." he muttered to himself, scribbling onto his clipboard. "Brother and sister both showing early symptoms ... Yet only one of them is infected ... Side effect of lycanthropy or simply a personality trait ...? Most curious, indeed ..."
Lily gritted her teeth. It was amazing to James how his tiny 12 year old sister was such a feisty little thing. "Personality trait, I assure you. We get it after our mother."
At the mention of Ginny, Caroban seemed to sober up considerably. He cleared his throat and said, "My name is Harvey Caroban. I'm your Healer and I'll be guiding you through this troubled time. I assume you understand what, er- you are?"
A monster.
James nodded meekly.
The Healer came closer and moved his head left and right, checking his teeth and eyes, all while looking at him disapprovingly.
"You were lucky somebody found you before your parents, young man. Especially since you were intoxicated," Hr. Caroban wagged his index disapprovingly, after withdrawing. "This could've been lethal. Oh yes, very, very lucky you are, indeed. Your shoulder was in quite a bad condition when you arrived here – I trust there is some pain?"
James nodded again. Caroban simply waved his wand, and for a moment James grimly thought that he might conjure a muzzle, but instead a tray appeared on his lap, a yellowish, steaming potion on it. "It helps with the pain. We had to do quite a bit of flesh regrowth" he explained and at James' horrified expression he said, "Whoever found you must've been in quite a hurry. They stopped the bleeding but did nothing for the aesthetics – but of course, that isn't important. What matters is that you're alive and well."
He continues, "There will be permanent damage, Mr. Potter. Shoulder pain, scarring. It was a very bad bite, indeed it was; you will possibly ..." he trails off, looking around the room awkwardly, avoiding James' eye. "I know this is horribly important to you and your family, but you will possibly have to quit your position on the Quidditch team to avoid further damage of the muscle."
The man looked at James apprehensively for any sort of reaction, a violent outburst perhaps, but none came; James just sat there, processing. He was a werewolf; a beast of the night. Not only that, but he also had to quit Quidditch too. He was a danger to society, with a permanently damaged shoulder that had flesh missing. Wonderful – just dandy. James was breathing heavily now, racing thoughts clogging up his brain.
"Okay," he managed to choke out. His jaw was set and clenching; he was becoming increasingly angrier. Who did this to him? Why would anyone do this? Who could be irresponsible enough to turn in the public woods, without Wolfsbane, on the night of a Quidditch match happening literally 2 yards away?
He thought about Phee and his chest ached.
"Will he ever be able to play again?" Lily asked, snapping him out of his haze.
Hr. Caroban fixed her with a distasteful glance and said: "In a years' time he'll be able to play recreationally again. It could possibly take longer."
"But-But he wanted to play professionally!" said Lily, looking wildly between James and the Healer. "There must be something you could do."
"I'm very sorry, Ms. Potter. There's nothing we can do. Werewolf induced damage is very much permanent."
When both of them were at a loss of words, he continued: "You . . . You will be given Wolfsbane potion, James. You will also turn for the first time, under the inspection of the Ministry and a Healer. Me, more specifically," Caroban quipped at the end, almost excitedly, like it was a great achievement.
James scowled at him, growling under his breath. (Lily ignored how it somehow sounded animalistic.)
"Mr. Potter . . ." Caroban began but James ignored him and rubbed his aching shoulder. Lily nudged him and pointed to the tray on his lap; he knocked the potion back in one. Caroban said: "Lay down immediately after you drink it, please. It'll make you a bit drowsy."
James agreed without another word, not in the mood for talking or listening anymore; Lily covered him with blankets and took hold of his hand, running her thumb over his palm. They promised each other that they'd stick together no matter what ages ago and James knew that lately he'd been neglecting that promise. He hadn't truly seen Lily all summer, because he was too busy with Phee and hanging out with German strippers; truth was, he was a bad brother. And now that he was a werewolf, would he be even worse? Would he hurt her accidentally?
"What do you remember from last night after you wandered off?" Caroban asked carefully, still scribbling onto his clipboard, studying James intently.
James thought for a moment, but all he could remember was the Canons losing. He had a drink afterwards (or two or four or ten), but then everything went dark, so dark. He could vaguely make out lights and screaming, the sound of branches breaking . . .
"I remember nothing," James said honestly, because he didn't, not really.
Caroban nodded and said, "Yes, that tends to happen. The brain chooses to shut down traumatic experiences. It's completely normal, I can assure you. We - my colleague Hr. Augustus Pye and I - will do everything in our power to–"
Caroban kept assuring and assuring, but nothing he said seemed to make it better. The longer he talked, the more James drew away; he was terrified, terrified of himself and what he could do and he was feeling lightheaded, so lightheaded. What if he hurt someone? Could he ever return to Hogwarts, if he was like this? Would anyone ever find out? He was a beast now, for fucks sake. No matter what 'Greenpeace', 'Save the Werewolves (and embrace the Merpeople!)' bullshit The Quibbler was spewing, with his father and Hermione Granger as their sponsors, werewolves were still beasts, dangerous creatures that killed people and hurt them. Yes, Wolfsbane potion had developed considerably since the 70s, but what if it wouldn't work for him? It was possible, James knew; he remembered Uncle Charlie talking about a werewolf attack in Romania, near his home. The Romanian Ministry had given the woman Wolfsbane potion, but it hadn't worked for her. She escaped, killing 6 people and turning 4. What if he would be like that too?
"James," Caroban said kindly, "I know this seems like the worst thing right now, but it is not, not really. Many have lived before you like this, quite successfully, oh yes! Successful werewolves are common in history, just not acknowledged as werewolves, but as wizards! Don't worry, Mr. Potter, this will not affect your career possibilities –other than playing Quidditch, for which I profusely apologize–"
Then Harry Potter burst through the door, causing Hr. Caroban to promptly shut up. He looked tired, his hair and robes more rumpled than usual. "Lily?" he called, breathing heavily. It appeared he had been running.
"I'm here dad," Lily said, waving at her father. The tension seemed to leave Harry's shoulders almost immediately, his stance visibly relaxing.
"Thank Merlin; I've no idea where anyone is. They've all disappeared," he looked around the room and spotted the Healer. "Oh, hello," he said cheerfully. "I'm Harry Potter."
Caroban greeted Harry with a deep bow of the head and enthusiastically said, "Harry Potter, what an honor, indeed!"
"It's a pity we're meeting under such circumstances," he added, quieter. "My name is Harvey, Harvey Caroban, Mr. Harry Potter, sir."
Harry smiled politely and shook the wizard's hand. "Pleasure to meet you," he said and Caroban looked like he might burst with happiness. They engaged in small-talk, like how the weather is and how their wives are. James scoffed inwardly. Of course his father would try to make a great impression before anything else.
He looked around the room, more carefully; there was a plush armchair in the far corner, a mahogany nightstand next to his surprisingly roomy bed, a pile of flowers, chocolates and colorful teddy bears (one holding a banner 'WE LOVE YOU (even if you're a bit furry now)' which undoubtedly had Fleur with a side of Dominique and possibly Louis written all over it) lying on a desk pushed up against a wall. There was also a big window, looking over the street. He could see the Muggles tottering by, oblivious to the Magical world. It was a nice room. He also noticed he was alone, which meant this was a private ward.
Harry laughed at something Caroban said.
"Having the time of his life, eh?" Lily remarked snidely. She was sitting on the foot of James' bed, picking at her nails and glaring at her father. James just shrugged; it was nothing new, not really.
Harry diverted his eyes from the man and met James'. He looked troubled, conflicted, torn between patting James on the back and comforting him, truly trying to comfort him, but they both knew the latter wouldn't turn out well. Harry nodded at the Healer politely one more time and said, "We'd like to have some privacy now."
Caroban scurried off with a deep bow and an almost giddy smile on his face.
Lily sighed. "I'll be going then too," she said and evened out her lovely skirt. James opened his mouth to protest but Lily shot him an irritated look.
"I'll check up on mum, yeah? Be good," she told him sternly, kissed him on the cheek and strutted out the door. (James made a mental note to ask mum if Lily was old enough to strut.)
There was an awkward silence after Lily left.
Harry made no move. He just stared at James, like if he breathed too loud or made a sudden move he'd disappear and at last he said: "Fuck," and ran a hand over his face.
"You're awake." Harry stated, like it was the most incredible thing in the world.
James snorted and rolled his eyes. "No shit."
Harry sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm sorry for everything."
And it sounded like a lot more than just the bite.
"I'm tired," James retorted, "I'm tired and I'd like to sleep now."
Harry looked like he might've protested but then he decided against it. He nodded his head vigorously and said: "Of course, of course, I understand."
James turned onto his right shoulder, away from the door and away from his father and placed his glasses on the nightstand. "We'll talk later," Harry promised.
Yeah right, James thought to himself and drifted into an uneasy sleep.
The air was tense down on the Ground Floor. Mrs. Ginny Potter was thundering up and down the hall, seething; red hair flying everywhere as she gestured wildly around her, eyes narrowed at St. Mungos' Head Healer.
"What do you mean," she said tightly, her cheeks flushed and chest heaving "it was a mistake?"
"We assure you, this is the first time anything like this happened—" Ginny scoffed loudly "— we couldn't know that somebody was eavesdropping—"
"Like hell you couldn't!" she exclaimed. "You realise what this means, don't you? It could ruin his life! Ruin his life!"
Ginny was full on screaming now and even though she was tiny and disheveled looking, like a redheaded leprechaun compared to the tall, stony faced Healer, she made a terrifying sight; wand raised to the Healers throat, she said to him, dead serious, voice low; "I'm angry. You do not want me to be angry." She was shaking her head slowly with each word she said. "This goes against the confidentiality agreement, Sylvan!"
Sylvan remained quiet, lips drawn in a straight line.
"How could this happen?" Ginny cried, flailing around herself. "What kind of people are you hiring here? For Merlin's sake – is she even bloody qualified?"
A softer female voice said, trembling: "Mrs. Potter, I didn't know—"
"You had no right! No bloody right!" Ginny interrupted angrily, pointing her wand at the trembling girl, whose pale face was pretty and slight; her eyes were wide with fear.
"You're being unreasonable!" the Healer bellowed. "Coworkers tell each other things! It's the right thing to do!"
As Lily drew closer to the reception area, her mother's voice became clearer: "How dare you tell me I'm being unreasonable!" she screeched. "That woman just came in, a stranger! Dressed in Healer robes! And she told her everything, like a bloody gossiping old bat! Is that all it takes to find out things in here? Being dressed in green robes and having a nice little badge?"
There was a thick silence.
"Do you see this, Sylvan? Do you see this?"
Her mother came into sight. She was clutching a magazine, the electric pink words Witch Weekly written in flourishing cursive shining brightly from the front, shoving it into the Healers face. It dawned on her and Lily dropped the paper cup of tea she'd gotten off a machine on Level 5 to the floor.
"They know?" she gasped incredulously. "But how?"
"That's the question, innit?" Ginny spat, smiling sardonically at the Healer. "That is the bloody question."
She seized the collar of her robes and pulled them closer to her throat, dropping the cover of Witch Weekly onto the nearest coffee table and looking the Healer straight in the face. "I'm going to Diagon Alley," she said curtly. "I've a chicken to rub with a certain editor. You—" she pointed to the girl, sitting in a chair, seemingly the reason all of this had happened, "better hope this will be taken care of."
And with another dirty look at the Healer she stomped off, like she hadn't caused a complete and utter scene in the middle of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, making a bedridden man miraculously lift his head to check what was going on from his floating carrier.
Lily stood there for a moment in the aftermath of her mother's anger. She found Al sitting in a white chair in the far corner of the room, holding the very copy of Witch Weekly her mother was raving about, and cringing. The Healers all hurried off to take care of their respective duties; except Sylvan, who was looking at the dark haired reception girl with a murderous glare. He said something to her and stomped past her desk into a back room, where she joined him shortly after a quick consultation with some of the younger looking nurses. She kept shooting nervous glances behind her shoulder, looking at the nurses for help; that made Lily think there was more to her and Sylvan than meets the eye.
She sat down next to Al. "Where are all the cousins?"
"Grandpa and Nana went home. Nana had to get a Calming Draught, wouldn't stop crying, poor thing. Grandpa said it was bad for her blood pressure, so Uncle Percy took them home. Freddy and his lot are on Fifth Floor now, I think, might be somewhere else. Dommy and Lou went home with Vic and Ted but Uncle Bill is still here. I think Aunt Fleur is coming back. Aunt 'Mione and Ron are visiting Neville's parents right now or something. Rose and Hugo are with Freddy. Most of them went home, really. I reckon the Healers were all getting a bit anxious with that many people around. It's the best for us all."
Lily nodded numbly.
"How's James?"
"He's fine, I guess. As fine as he can be," she added grimly. "He doesn't remember a thing, which is good, I think. The Healer said it was normal. Otherwise, he's fine. His shoulder hurts a bit, but he'll be okay."
It was Al's turn to nod.
"How bad is it?" she asked, referring to the article.
"Well," Al said, fixing his glasses like their dad so often did; it amused and freaked Lily out how alike they were sometimes. "It's . . . bad. Like 'accusing mum of being a bad mother' bad. Like 'pushing every single button that should never under any circumstances be pushed' bad. Like 'calling a 15 year old sexy when you're middle-aged' bad," Al cringed at the last one and handed her the magazine. "She insulted Phee's intelligence and you know how James gets. At least she hasn't called them 'Polovo' in the article,"
"She said all that?" muttered Lily, eyebrows raised, leafing through it, "Wonder what possessed her. She knows mum'll blow up."
"I honestly think that's what these women want, Lil," Al sighed, "I think they want just another excuse to make mum look bad. You know how they are."
They sat there in silence for a while, while Lily read and then after a minute she snapped the magazine shut and threw it away. "This is absolutely vile. He doesn't deserve this,"
She teared up a bit and Al bit his lip guiltily. "I know," he whispered, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "He really, really doesn't."
He pulled her into a hug.
"I mean, this is unfair, you know? This is forever, Al. This is for the rest of his life. And with Phee gone . . ." Lily's voice cracked, "I don't know how he's going to do it."
"Phee's gone?" Al asked softly and Lily nodded into his chest.
"Well, he has us, doesn't he? We're going to help him, Lil, if he wants it or not," Al said determinedly, stroking her hair while she sniffed a little. It was quite unnerving to see Lily like this, because she rarely ever cried.
"How long's this been here anyways?" she pointed at the Witch Weekly cover. "I mean, isn't it a bit early?"
"Apparently it's been out since 6am today. Mum saw a woman gawking at us –more than usual that is – and she was carrying the magazine. Proper lost it, mum did. She was even angrier than the time when James and I blew up half the house on accident. Came down here and started screaming and all,"
"How did she know it was that girls fault, though?" Lily furrowed her eyebrows.
"We overheard some nurses earlier in the morning, talking about someone dressed in Healer robes coming in at like 3am, asking all sorts of questions about James Potter and his injury at the front desk," at Lily's questioning stare, he said: "There were photographers waiting for him when he first arrived. I've no idea how they knew, but they did. Anyhow, the girl got 20 Galleons for the information. Kind of cheap, if you ask me, but then again I'd never do something like that, so . . ." he shrugged his shoulders. "Horrid little buggers, these people are."
"Oh," his sister mumbled sullenly. "That's why you guys disappeared."
"Yeah, had to follow her, didn't I? She would've broken somebody's nose if I wasn't there, probably."
Lily sniggered and exhaled deeply, snuggling closer to her brother. "I'm tired, Al," she whispered. He just nodded faintly in agreement. He was falling asleep with his cheek resting on her head.
"Hey, guys," Harry said loudly and plopped down next to them. None of them saw or heard him coming and Lily jumped a little, effectively hitting Al in the jaw, making him loudly cry out 'Ow!' (Coincidentally, at least six Healer heads turned – habit of force, Al thought).
"James is asleep. Reckon he'll be out for a while,"
"Dad, why were you looking for me earlier?"
Waving her off, he said, "Doesn't matter. What're we reading?"
Harry grabbed the magazine on the coffee table and took one look at the cover, eyes widening momentarily. Then just like that, hitting the nail right on the head, he said, "Shit."